The Hogwarts Swim Team
by Anidori-Kiladra
Summary: Whem Madam Hooch spends a summer in Muggle London, she comes back with some very interesting training ideas. HPDM.


The Hogwarts Swim Team

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim over Harry, Draco or any of the rest of those lovely Hogwarts people.

**A/N:** I feel I should explain a little here. My main motivation in writing this story is that there _has_ to be a way to get Draco Malfoy into a Speedo. So, here we go. Seventh year AU. As if HBP never happened, except for Quidditch tryouts. I'm keeping those. My first (official) slash, and fluffy, hopefully. Tell me what you think.

For all my practice buddies. Except Colin is all for Hoeun.

xXx

Harry Potter stepped off the last stair leading from the boys' dorm into the common room and gazed around. After spending almost the whole summer with the Dursleys, as Dumbledore had insisted, (perhaps, Harry thought, in the hope that the longer he stayed there, the more last minute protection would wear off on him,) it was good to be back at Hogwarts. A flash of white caught his eye and he glanced at the notice board, did a double take, and pushed his glasses up his nose as a look of incredulity spread over his features.

"Oi, Ron, come over here and look at this."

Ron ambled over, puzzlement clear on his face.

His puzzlement was replaced by a look of horror as his eyes scanned the sign pinned up on the board, which read:

THIS YEAR, MEMBERS OF ALL HOUSE QUIDDITCH TEAMS SHALL BE REQUIRED TO ATTEND PRE-SEASON TRAINING WITH MADAM HOOCH. SAID TRAINING WILL CONSIST OF SWIMMING AND IS DESIGNED TO PREPARE PLAYERS FOR THE UPCOMING SEASON.CAPTAINS, PLEASE CONTACT MADAM HOOCH AS SOON AS TEAMS ARE ESTABLISHED.

"We won't have a team if they know they'll have to do this first," Harry groaned. "Swimming? This has got to be a joke."

However, after several cross-House discussions at breakfast, during which it transpired that the same sign had appeared in all House common rooms, Harry was forced to admit to himself that it was not indeed a joke.

Despite the odds, he was pleased to discover that this new development did not deter many from putting there names down for tryouts and the list Professor McGonagall handed him was just as long, if not longer, than it had been the year before.

xXx

Harry decided to hold tryouts the following Saturday, eager for the badgering in the halls to stop.

"Alright," he said to the crowd of about twenty-five hopefuls gathered around him. "This is my last year here, and I'd really like to continue our tradition of beating Slytherin into the ground." There were several grins, but Hermione, there to watch, elbowed him in the ribs. "Er, I mean, our tradition of excellence. So, that said, let's see what we've got."

Taking last year as a lesson, Harry had decided to hold Keeper tryouts first, but he needn't have worried. Ron seemed much less nervous and, without McLaggen, no one else came close.

Chasers were next. Ginny flew first, her red hair streaming out behind her. She flashed Harry a dazzling smile as she neared the ground. Since breaking up with Dean Thomas over the summer, Ginny hadn't been able to keep her eyes off Harry. Or her hands. He blushed, recalling that memorable dinner at the Burrow near the end of August. But she did fly well, and easily made it back onto the team, as did last years find, Demelza Robins. The third chaser came as something of a surprise to Harry, who hadn't even known Colin Creevey owned a broom, much less that he could fly.

But fly he did. Zooming in and out of the goalposts and executing a neat flip right before Harry's nose as bystanders cheered, Harry had little choice but to let him onto the team.

Last years Beaters, Ritche Coote and Jimmy Peakes made it onto the team as well. They would never equal Fred and George, but they were good players. All of them were, and Harry was happy with his team. He was so elated that he had almost forgotten what would inevitably come next.

xXx

Twenty eight students stared in shock at the object in Madam Hooch's hand.

"You have got to be kidding me." Draco Malfoy, ironically enough, spoke for them all.

"No, I am not kidding, Mr. Malfoy. Speedos will be worn. It is not a choice."

Giggles exploded from nearly every girl in the room, and, frighteningly, Crabbe. Harry shuddered. He did not want to think about how Crabbe would look in a Speedo. Or Goyle. At least some people had the body for it. Malfoy for instance.

Madam Hooch had gone on to talk about practice schedules, but she stopped when Harry Potter uttered a startled "meep" and fell off his chair.

xXx

"What was wrong with you back there, mate?" asked Ron. "All Madam Hooch said was 6 o'clock sharp. There was no reason to faint."

"I was just, erm, thinking about the Speedo thing, and I got scared." Harry said hurriedly. Thinking it was bad enough. There was no way Harry was going to let Ron know that he'd been thinking about how Draco Malfoy would look in a swimsuit. And, liking it? Harry didn't know what to think.

"Anyway, you were still out when she asked for sizes, so I told her what size pants you wear, and she said she'd have the…whatsits ready for us tomorrow."

"How do you know what size pants I wear?" Harry asked suspiciously, wondering if he was suddenly seeing the world through gay-colored glasses.

"Mum bought you some clothes last year, remember?" Ron asked. "I had to help carry them in. You sure you're all right, Harry?"

"Yes, fine." But he was not fine. Not fine at all.

xXx

"But you didn't tell us they would be PURPLE!" shouted a Hufflepuff boy Harry didn't know, and Harry had to say he agreed with him. Holding the slightly stretchy purple out in front of him, he could not envision a worse fate. Stomping away from the pool conjured up in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and toward the changing rooms, Harry contemplated a life without Quidditch. Surely he could do it if it meant not having to wear _this_.

He almost fell over putting the demon thing on, and then was faced with the prospect of leaving the changing rooms. Ginny giggled at him when he emerged, a towel tightly wrapped around his hips. The girls, he saw, had been given perfectly modest one-pieces, with at least three times the amount of cloth the boys were allotted. It wasn't fair.

"Over here, everyone," Madam Hooch said, blowing her whistle and waving them over toward the poolside. "We're about to get in."

Harry reluctantly dropped his towel, causing Ginny to whisper in Demelza's ear and giggle again. Was that all she ever did anymore?

"We'll break up lanes by House first, then I'll move you around according to speed," Madam Hooch informed them.

Just as Harry was bracing himself to jump in, he heard a cool drawl from behind him that made him almost fall in anyway. "What prompted this endeavor, Madam Hooch. I'm curious."

"I suppose that's a valid question, Mr. Malfoy. I spent the summer in Muggle London, researching other sports, and I fell in with an American."

"Now, when you say 'fell in with'-" Colin Creevey began in Harry's ear, but a glare from Madam Hooch shut him up.

"He was there on vacation. We got to talking, and I discovered that he coached a small swim team. Over the course of a few weeks, he was able to show me many of his techniques."

Beside Harry, Colin choked.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Creevey?" Madam Hooch asked.

"No, miss," he was able to get out through his snorts.

"In that case, perhaps we had better begin practicing."

There were many apprehensive faces as the players entered the pool. Harry for one had never had lessons and he suspected not many others had. Glancing around, he noticed that the Slytherin team was in the lane next to his and felt his heartbeat pick up. He very carefully did not look at Malfoy. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew he didn't like it..

"We'll start with something easy." Madam Hooch had unearthed a clipboard and was poring over it, a manic glint coming into her eyes. It was then that Harry began to feel truly afraid.

"This is called harmonic kick. It's very useful when learning the butterfly and breaststroke." Madam Hooch proceeded to demonstrate a movement in which she rolled her hips and thrust her chest out."

Harry heard an alarming sputtering noise, and when he turned around, saw Colin holding onto the lane line for support. Harry thought he heard him gasp something that sounded like "Madam Hooch…kink…who knew?" before ducking underwater.

"Have you all got it?" asked Madam Hooch, slightly red in the face, as she pushed her hair off her forehead and adjusted her hat.

"You know, I'm not sure I quite understand, Madam Hooch. Will you demonstrate it for us again?" asked Malfoy. Harry shot a look at him, and spotted the malevolent smirk lurking on the corner of Malfoy's well-formed lips.

Wait, when had he started noticing what Malfoy's lips looked like? Or, as Harry's eyes traveled down past Malfoy's chin (against his will, mind you), that although he was lithe, he had a surprisingly toned chest.

As if sensing Harry's eyes on him, Malfoy turned. Jerking his head toward Madam Hooch, who looked like she was doing a bad imitation of the freak dancing Harry had caught Dudley drooling over on TV that summer, he said, "Hopefully, this'll give Creevey a coronary. Or he'll drown," he added, glancing at Colin, who was still underwater.

Attempting to force the usual anger into his voice, Harry said, "Trying to knock off my team members now, are you?"

Malfoy's look immediately became that of an abandoned kitten: innocence personified. "Who, me? When have I ever had anything against Gryffindors?"

Harry had opened his mouth to retort when Madam Hooch interrupted. "Do you understand now, Mr. Malfoy?" She was breathing rather hard at this point, and her hat had fallen all the way off. Colin came to the surface only to duck back under again when he saw her in that state.

"Yes, I think I do. Thank you." Now Malfoy sounded thoughtful, but still with the same innocent kitten element added in. That little- But now that Harry thought about it, Malfoy had been surprisingly un-Malfoyish to him that year. In fact, except for today, they hadn't spoken at all, except when Malfoy'd asked him to pass the boomslang skin in Potions last week.

Harry had no time to consider it further, however, because Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Harry was forced to push off from the wall and attempt the eel-like movements Madam Hooch had tried to show them.

He soon found that, while he was not very successful, he could use his hands and kick a bit to propel him forwards. What he wouldn't give for some gillyweed now, he thought.

About halfway down the pool, Harry stopped looking forward and glanced to the side. This turned out to be a mistake, because Malfoy was swimming next to and just a little in front of Harry, directly in his line of vision. And while Madam Hooch had made the movement look like a severely deranged snake in its death throes, Malfoy made the sleek undulating motion look almost…erotic?

Harry was stunned to find himself thinking those words and even more stunned at the feeling like a hot pool of molten lava building up in the pit of his stomach. He stopped moving, and Ron banged his head into his feet.

"Sorry, Harry," he said, treading water inelegantly.

"S'okay, Ron," Harry gasped, trying not to breath in any water. He gave up entirely on the harmonic kick and simply swam a splashy freestyle to the other end, where Madam Hooch was waiting.

"Good effort, Potter, but take it all the way next time. Malfoy here can show you how."

Harry was mortified to feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. "Y-yes," he stuttered.

Malfoy gave him an odd look, and Harry's blush increased ten-fold.

That was how it went the rest of practice. They would swim across the pool and Harry would be unable to stop himself from watching Malfoy, who completed each skill with apparent ease. Bloody git. Malfoy continued to shoot him strange, almost contemplative glances, and Harry was not capable of forming a coherent sentence.

By the time the sun began to set, he had long given up trying to figure out what it all meant, and was now concentrating on not making a fool of himself in front of Malfoy. Why did Malfoy's opinion matter so much to him anyway? It never had before.

But that wasn't true, Harry thought. He had always cared what Malfoy thought of him. He just didn't know why.

When the water had turned orange and pink with reflected sunset, Madam Hooch blew her whistle once again. "Alright, that's all for tonight! Good job, and I'll see you back here tomorrow evening."

Harry tromped toward the changing rooms with Ron, his towel once again firmly around his waist.

"I'm going to have to burn out my retinas to get the picture of Malfoy in a swimsuit out of my mind," Ron shuddered.

"Yeah," said Harry, his heart sinking and performing spectacular gymnastics at the same time. "Me too."

xXx

Harry stood in the shower, letting the warm water run in rivulets down his chest into that infernal Speedo that he hadn't bothered to remove.

"Harry." Ron stood in the doorway. "You coming in, mate?"

"In a bit," Harry answered. Ron nodded and turned around the corner, out of sight. Harry heard the changing room door shut behind him.

He leaned against the wall and buried his head in his hands. His thoughts had been everywhere today, especially in the very last places he wanted them to go. Malfoy. In particular, Malfoy in his Speedo, with his seductive swimming, which made Harry wonder just what else he could do with his body, especially if it were out of the swimsuit.

Harry let a muffled groan of frustration slip past his hands. When had he started thinking of Malfoy like_ that_? Once again, he didn't know the answer, but found that that didn't matter to him as much as he'd thought it would.

But still, Malfoy was the enemy. Future Death Eater extraordinaire and proud son of Lucius Malfoy, ready to follow in his father's footsteps.

Harry was pulled from his reverie by the sound of the door opening once more. Funny, he thought. He'd been sure he was the last one.

Then a sleek blond head peeked around the doorway into the showers, followed quickly by the legs and torso of Draco Malfoy.

"Trying to drown yourself, Potter?"

Harry felt the blush rising on his cheeks again. Malfoy was clothed only in a towel slung so low on his hips that Harry was sure it concealed nothing beneath it. He valiantly tried to answer as if nothing were different, as if this was the normal meeting of two arch-nemeses on an ordinary day.

"Why do you care, anyway, Malfoy?"

To Harry's horror, Malfoy had adopted the abandoned kitten expression again. "You wound me, Potter. Here I was, just checking to see if you were all right, and you reward me with this rudeness."

"Come off it, Malfoy. Why are you really here?"

Malfoy licked his lips, appearing to hesitate, but then he squared his shoulders and went on. "I saw the way you were looking at me during practice today, Potter."

Harry immediately felt something inside him die, and felt his cheeks grow ever hotter. "W-what?" he stammered. "Like what, Malfoy? What are you talking about?"

Harry could tell that his world was quickly spinning out of control. If Malfoy discovered what Harry had been thinking… He rushed to keep talking, anything to stop Malfoy from reaching his conclusions.

"And you're the enemy, Malfoy, and now you come in here like an abandoned kitten, but I don't buy it!" Harry knew that he was sounding more insane by the second, spiraling into madness, even, and fast losing control of the situation.

For a moment, Malfoy looked taken aback. "What? What are you on about, Potter?"

Then he unfolded himself from his casual lean against the wall and began to walk into the showers, toward Harry. A slow smile had unfurled itself upon those lips.

"It's okay, Potter. I don't know why you were nattering on about kittens just now, but I suppose it doesn't really matter."

And suddenly Malfoy had closed the gap between them. His breath ghosted Harry's face as he pushed him back against the wall and then his mouth was hot on Harry's and his still damp hair smelled like strawberry shampoo and Harry had forgotten how to think, forgotten how to do anything but clutch Malfoy's bare shoulders there in the showers as water droplets splashed and fell around them.

xXx

Professor Dumbledore, passing by on his midnight stroll around the grounds, paused near the Quidditch pitch and breathed in deeply, enjoying the night air. An ignorant listener might wonder why such noises where emanating from the Gryffindor changing rooms so late at night, but Dumbledore merely chuckled. Really, he thought to himself, it was about time.


End file.
